Jim was leaning on her desk, but instead of goofing around or stealing jelly beans, he looked, for once in his life, very focused on the papers he was reading, chewing a pencil. Pam was pretending to do exactly the same, even though she could practically recite by heart the words on her contract.

"I don't see why they have to come film in our houses," he said after a moment.

"Huh?" Pam had to focus. She had got distracted by looking at his hand on the desk, tracing invisible circles with just the tip of his fingers.

"Here," he pointed at a paragraph and Pam stood up to read. She hadn't liked that part either, the first time she read the sample contract four months ago, but she got an explanation and now it was the time to pass it forward.

"Well… let's say Michael wants to get us all together for dinner at his place or something. That could, you know… be interesting for the documentary, I guess," she shrugged, trying to sound as puzzled and clueless as she was supposed to be.

"Yeah, but what if it's not?"

Pam shrugged. "Then I guess they won't tape it. Or air it. Or whatever."

"Yeah," Jim scratched the back of his neck.

She felt the need to reassure him, to tell him the camera crew would not show up to his place unannounced, that they'll need a specific contract for every time they were to film in locations outside the office, and that, finally, a lot of people were doubting if the whole documentary would make it past the pilot. Instead, she bit her lip.

"What would happen if we refuse to sign?" she asked after a moment to distract him, even though that was a question whose answer she knew.

"Now we can't. We were asked months ago, before you came, what we thought about being filmed in a documentary and if we'd agreed to that. Deal was, if even one of us said no, they would've gone to another branch."

"And no one did," Pam said thoughtfully.

"It's good money," Jim replied in earnest. "Although some guys here do it for other reasons. Kelly, for instance… I'm sure she's picturing herself having drinks with Brad and Angelina once this is over."

She chuckled, he was probably right.

"Wait," he opened his eyes wide and stared at her. "You didn't know this was happening?"

"I learned it from Michael," she lied, "when he interviewed me. He told me this was a possibility and if it was ok with it. I suppose he had to warn all the possible receptionists."

"Yeah, that makes sense…" he got lost in reading the contract again. Pam shuffled uncomfortably.

That time, during her interview, she just nodded. She was ok with taking part on a documentary, she'd said to Michael, sounding a little nervous, which was just what receptionist Pam would've said. A tiny bit of interest, a little bit of wanting to please her potential new boss. Just playing the part.

Why did it feel so different now that Jim had asked? Why did it feel like a lie this time around?

To have something to do other than chewing on her own thoughts, Pam took a pen and went straight to the last page, to sign her name on the dotted line. She knew her fake contract would be shredded the moment the network got hold of it. Jim's wouldn't.

"Ok," he sighed, and copied her actions. After signing, he smiled at her. "I guess we've just boarded this ship together."

"Yeah," Pam forced a laugh to ignore that strange warm feeling that had just assaulted. "Don't forget me when you're famous."

Wait, where did that come from? Was she getting that good at improv?

Jim chuckled, "we'll both be famous. You better start looking for the perfect outfit for when you get an Emmy nomination or something."

Pam snorted, but her mind was jumping way ahead of her and she did imagine, for a wild second, a red carpet, someone from a trashy network asking her who she was wearing-

"Done!" Taking her out of her reverie, Jim put the signed contract with a flourish on the basket that was going to be sent to the network. Pam put hers on top of his, and that weird feeling provoked by Jim's eyes went forgotten, as she acted her part on the office gossip, nodding at Phyllis wrong explanations of the production process and pretending to be genuinely interested in Kelly's wardrobe.

A week later, the camera crew arrived, and Pam let an almost audible sigh of relief. Finally her real job would start.

For two days, the office's productivity was at an absolute zero, as people were trying on their mics and learning how to make them work, while the cameramen decided where to place their equipment and which spot would be best to conduct the talking heads. If any of them knew about Pam being an actor, they didn't show and it was easier for her to pretend all of this was new.

It wasn't though, and she couldn't help noticing things she doubted her co-workers would see. Like they way a couple cameramen made subtle arrangements to the furniture to get better angles, or the four hidden cameras scattered through the office. She suspected there would be more, and some hidden sound equipment as well.

The crew made some more visible changes in the setting, too. Most of the boxes that used to be left around the office were shoved away into a deposit. The walls got a slight pimping, and some of the stuff pasted on them was replaced, including, to Michael's chagrin, a poster of a very provocative woman dressed as a school teacher he had hanging inside his office. Most of the lights were replaced and Phyllis mentioned how nice it was to actually see her keyboard.

Pam tried hard not to look amused at the various reactions. She knew all of this was meant to make the shabbiness a little bit more on purpose.

The thing that became hardest not to notice was the change in Michael's demeanor. If he had been loud and obnoxious before, it was nothing compared to now. The lame jokes became a constant, interrupted only by his terrible attempts to make what he thought were funny voices, or his bad imitations of known characters. And all that when he was not throwing impromptu speeches that were supposed to be directed at their co-workers, but, she was sure of it, were made for the camera's sake.

It was so ridiculous, Pam considered for the first time that people might get interested in watching it. Weirdos that enjoy cringe-worthy situations and seeing others make a fool of themselves.

"I can't believe we didn't see this coming," Jim commented over his ham and cheese sandwich during the second day, looking at Michael trying to borrow a camera from one of the crew. "I mean, he's always been a bit of a child. This is like Disneyland knocking at his door."

Pam nodded, and purposely looked away from Michael. Even though she wasn't particularly fond of her fake boss, it had pained her to see him behaving so ridiculously, and even more, the certainty that he was about to do so on national television. She forgot all of this the first time he called her 'Pamelamela ding dong' in front of the producer, following it by a long stare at the camera as if he was sharing the joke with an eager audience. That's when she decided Michael would wholly deserve each and every parody that would spring based on him.

"He does enjoy the spotlight," she commented, wondering if there would be any actual work done while the cameras were hovering around.

"Yup."

"What about you?" Are you going to enjoy it?" she smiled, genuinely curious of his answer.

"I'm going to hate it," he announced, and she looked for that light in his eyes that she had learned to recognize when he was telling a joke.

"I don't buy it."

"What?" he tried to look indignant, but she could see the corners of his lips quirk very slightly.

"Come on, Jim. You like to be the center of attention sometimes."

"What?" he repeated, looking affronted. "No, I don't."

"Well… not like that," she pointed at Michael through the window, who was now saying something and wildly moving his hands around. "But, you know. From time to time."

Jim huffed, his head down, but Pam knew he was pretending. "I happen to like my low profile," he mumbled. "As a matter of fact, I won't talk to them. At all."

Yeah, as if that would be possible.

"Uh huh. And what'll happen when they interview you?"

From everything she knew about what was going to happen, she was sure the personal talking heads would be the most difficult part for all of them. Being asked to say stuff about what's happening around you on a daily basis was bound to exhaust everybody, to lower their defences, maybe, and make them admit stuff they wouldn't dream about telling in the first place.

"I'll just zip it. Zero."

"Sure you will."

He chuckled, and she mirrored him. She was sure he would enjoy this a little bit. And she? Well, Roy had been right. It felt much easier now, and a lot more like her job, than her past months just answering phones and making copies.

That night she got a call from an assistant at the network, asking her to show up at work at six the next day.

The crew had taken up a spare room down the hall, and their stuff was all over the place. Pam almost ran inside, eager, and took a deep breath. It even smelled like television, or maybe it was just the scrambled eggs they offered her, as they all were having some breakfast.

It turned out the filming crew knew all about her, and, moreover, had some directions for her. She had to keep on playing the part of a timid receptionist, she had to show a bit of vulnerability and even cry, if the situation presented itself. She had to look both shy and annoyed at the cameras. She had to talk about her engagement to Roy as if she was looking forward to the wedding, even though they still hadn't set a date.

The producer of the show, Marissa, asked her to tell her stuff Pam had found out about every one of her co-workers, and she even asked what was the best way to trigger Michael.

There was a lot to say about Michael, and Pam's first intention was to oblige. Anecdotes, lines the boss kept on saying, old jokes she had heard about, even nicknames. But as she started describing everyone's routine, she realised she didn't feel particularly comfortable with some of the questions that she was supposed to answer.

"What about Meredith? Is Michael a possible love interest?" Marissa was taking furious notes on a notepad and Pam had the feeling nobody had ever listened to her with such attention.

"Not really. Meredith keeps a lot to herself," it was not really a lie, but Pam wasn't going to tell about the secret stash of bottles she knew Meredith kept in a drawer. Or by the fact that she suspected Meredith struggled being a single mom.

"Is Kelly after Oscar?"

Again, impossible. But there were other things to tell, only...

And before she could really plan it, Pam decided not to bring up the fact that she strongly suspected Oscar was a closeted gay, or that Stanley had a mistress. She consciously hid the fact that Kelly was grieving the loss of her sister, or that Toby had just had a very messy divorce. No. Nowhere in her contract did it say she had to be a snitch.

She didn't really think much about why, and when the questions were over, she was convinced that they would find out about everything soon enough without her help.

Two hours later, she was sitting at her desk, distractedly doodling on a notepad and waiting for the rest of the members of the office to arrive. As predicted, all of them were early that morning, and she noticed from their demeanor and some silly giggles that most of them were nervous. Pam couldn't blame them. Too many new things. She wondered, though, if even a ream of paper would be sold that day, and how long would it take for all of them to 'act normal', as the producer had asked.

By lunchtime she was sure very little of the footage was usable, except maybe that parade of sorts Michael made with the new intern, and the idea accompanied her during the entire week. People were just too aware of the cameras, and the things they said sounded forced and a little rehearsed, even to an untrained ear.

Pam could now imagine why there were doubts about the future of the entire experience.

And then, one day she realized they'd all fit into a routine and, except from glances at the cameras and a couple of Michael's eccentricities, life had gone back to a very convincing semblance of normality.

Maybe that should've been the first sign that something was wrong, but she chose to ignore it because she was having fun. Not always but frequently enough for it all not to be the burden she had anticipated. She enjoyed the time Jim and her passed most of the afternoon making up of fake diseases, and the many times he'd put Dwight's stuff in jell-o. Some of the smaller things weren't half bad either, like having lunch with him or beating her own record at sudoku. It was an easy, boring job, with long stretches of nothing to do that allowed her mind the rare opportunity of wandering.

She kept notes on her "colleagues", just for herself, and covertly observed her gestures and body languages. She even kept a list of every answer she would have loved to give to every stupid thing Michael said in her interactions to her, and she even fantasized about showing it to Jim sometime, even though she knew that was impossible.

Sometimes she'd stay late, and talk to the crew. They were a nice enough group, very concerned about the rules of no-engagement with their "subjects", and respectful of the work environment. Those were the moments she felt more like an actress, even if there was no real acting, when they were commenting on the lightning, or somebody from production would show up with suggestions for her of things to do in order to make the others seem more interesting.

Everything was fine. She had grown into her character and was perfectly comfortable playing it.

And that's when it happened.

Exactly what the joke had been about, the joke Jim was whispering almost into her ear, she forgot, the moment Roy entered the office like a stampede. The next thing she knew, he was threatening to punch Jim because he was too near his fiancée.

Even though every muscle in her body wanted to yell at Roy and tell him he was overreacting, the hovering mic seemed to make her remember who she was, and how mousy quiet Pam, the receptionist, would act. All that had left was to stand thunderstruck as Jim stuttered a very unconvincing apology.

Had he really been too close? Had she noticed? Not exactly. But she had been enjoying the moment, that she couldn't deny.

Automatically, she had gathered her things, avoiding Jim's eyes, and ignoring Roy's mumbles, and it felt like months until the day was finally over and he drove his truck out of the parking lot.

"What the hell was that?!" She yelled, the instant they were on the road.

"What do you mean what the hell was that?" Roy yelled back. "Have you forgotten we're supposed to be engaged? What was I supposed to do? Stand there and nod? Sure, Halpert, go on grabbing my girlfriend all you like, be my guest."

"He wasn't grabbing me!"

"It sure as hell looked like it."

Pam shook her head, realising that even if this was not a scene for the cameras, it was feeling a lot like it. "We're just friends," and it sounded lame even to her ears.

That was the problem, wasn't it? She was not supposed to be friends with anybody. They were her audience. Her fake co-workers. What kind or friendship could she make based on a pencil-skirt facade she had to wear everyday?

Roy didn't answer, and for once he forgot to turn on his loud music, for which Pam was very grateful.

"Listen, Pam," Roy finally spoke after a long stretch of silence. "Your mic off?"

Pam frowned, puzzled and exasperated in equal measure. "I left it at the office."

"Ok. Just making sure."

Pam looked at him, but his eyes were fixed on the road and it didn't seem like he wanted to elaborate.

"Why?"

Roy took a long breath and then he glanced at Pam, his hands drumming at the wheel.

"Marissa made me do it."

It took Pam a moment to register the words. "Marissa made you do what?"

"Wait outside," Roy sighed, looking uncomfortable. "She said a couple of days ago that something like this was going to happen, Jim making something that'll put him closer to you, and that I should be ready and get all dramatic about it. Violent, if possible."

"What?" Pam's insides seem to freeze. Had it all been so obvious? How close she and Jim were these days, how he would take opportunities to talk to her and how she would enjoy them... Was it evident to everybody that sometimes she was forgetting to act?

"I am not supposed to tell you this," Roy continued, "but they want me to get jealous of Halpert and act upon it. And… well, he's giving us plenty to go by. I've seen the footage of the days I'm not around."

He stayed silent for an entire red light.

Pam chew at her fingernail. "What's in that footage?" she asked, not really sure if she wanted to know.

Roy half turned to face her. "You have to be kidding me. Haven't you noticed? You two have grown real close and that's ok by me. We're not together. But for the story-"

"There isn't a story. This is a documentary," Pam stated flatly, as Roy entered the highway. Even if she'd know in her heart of hearts that something wasn't right, Roy's sympathetic gaze on her made it more than evident.

"They are making a story. Out of us. Couple, jealousy, the whole package. And that's ok because we get paid for it. But they're including your pal Jim and no-one is planning to tell him. Or you."

Pam remained speechless for a long moment, as betrayal and guilt were fighting their way inside her. She felt dirty. Responsible. Used. And worse of all, she was not the only one being used for the sake of the fake documentary.

"Why don't they want to tell me any of this?"

Roy didn't say a thing for a moment, as he drove the car into their driveway, parked, and then slowly unclasped his seatbelt. Pam could almost see the struggle. "I heard them talking about chemistry between you and him. And about you being better when you're not being directed."

She shook her head, trying to make sense of what Roy was saying. "This is wrong. This is so wrong."

He shrugged again, in a gesture that clearly said 'there's nothing to be done'.

Pam opened the door of the car, without really thinking. Only after a few steps towards the building she turned back to Roy.

"Thanks."

"Yeah," he said. "Listen, if you wanna grab a beer or something, I'll be at my place."

For a moment Pam considered his offer. A beer or two. A real conversation with the only person who really knew who she was. But then, she thought about Jim, and how it was not difficult at all to admit she'd rather be with him. The image of his smile and his eyes formed inside her mind in an instant and she could practically hear their shared laughter.

This was so messed up.

"No, thanks, Roy. But I appreciate it. Really."

"Any time," he said, waving at her.

Once inside her apartment, Pam went straight to her desk. Inside the topmost drawer the first thing she saw was a notebook. The notebook.

She went back to read at the dates. In blue there were things that had happened in the office, written down as a report more than as a 'dear diary' thing. In red, the little instructions she'd had from the network, the crew or Marissa. In green, her thoughts about her fake co-workers. Many post it notes partially filled some pages, of notes she's hastily taken during office hours.

Lines in blue such as 'we had fun' or 'Jim had the idea of…' had become more and more frequent in the last dozen entries or so. And she could remember the way she felt, writing it all. She had been happy. She had enjoyed this lie for too long, and the network had noticed.

It was almost eight when she made up her mind and, making herself a cup of coffee to go, she jumped on her small car and headed towards the interstate.